


Just A Date

by Lazarus76



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-16
Updated: 2014-11-09
Packaged: 2018-02-21 10:26:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 4,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2464865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lazarus76/pseuds/Lazarus76
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Love can happen. Even if you wait 70 years.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Rising

**Author's Note:**

> Another fanfic import.

The shifting light filtered through the blinds, exposing the two figures lying in the bed. One, his face down in the pillow, had an arm carelessly flung out, dangling over the edge, fingers almost brushing the floor. The other was across the midriff of a woman, lying face up, her eyes closed.

He yawned, stray locks of hair dangling into his eyes, and he brushed them away. As he turned over, he swallowed, memories of the previous night swarming up to greet his awakening mind, tugging and nibbling at his mind like hungry fish. He closed his eyes, hoping to relive them. Beginning with walking with her through the busy night city, awash with neon colours and a frenetic atmosphere. Focusing on he fact that he was alive, walking, using his own free will, not a puppet being controlled by somebody else. And also focusing on the fact that a beautiful red head had her arm looped through his, who in terms of athleticism could match him any day. Arriving at the restaurant, being carefully ushered to a small table set for them both. Taking in the atmosphere of laughter, talking, and pleasure.

"This is a date?" he'd asked, doubtfully. She'd laughed, although not in mockery, but kindly. "Yes. We're sitting here, two people together, enjoying each other's company." She had raised her eyebrows at him. "Don't worry, you don't have to laugh at all of my jokes."

That had made him smile. He'd listened carefully as she'd explained the menu, pointing out what he might like, and what he might try to avoid. He bit his lip.

"Think it'll be ok?"

"You can eat solid food now," she'd encouraged. "You don't have to live on a drip feed anymore."

He laughed. "Yeah, its a big change!" He smiled. "I still eat pretty blandly. Trying to readjust."

"I can order for you, if you're not sure..." as soon as she'd said it, she blinked. "Sorry. You've had enough of being controlled. I meant-"

"Its all right," he reassured her. "Steve still helps me pick things out." He nodded. "What do you like?"

"Fish."

They both ordered fish, he being pleasantly surprised by the smoothness of the texture. She noticed how he took his time over every bite, as though still trying to reconcile himself to actually eating, chewing, swallowing and digesting, after 70 years of lying in cryo, only being allowed out to perform a basic function - to kill.

Sleep. Kill. Repeat.

She pushed the salmon onto her fork. "Oh, that's awful!" she heard him exclaim. She looked up, puzzled. "What is it?"

He was pointing, with his fork, at a man and young woman who had just entered. "Her." He shook his head. "You can see her bones."

Natasha twisted her neck, trying to get a look at what Bucky seemed so disgusted by. It was a young woman, dressed expensively. "Well, you can see her collarbone," she said, pleasantly, "but there's nothing wrong with it. That's how some people are."

He was shaking his head. "No. Steve and I were saying that back in the war, women looked like women." He looked at his plate. "I guess things have moved on. But no-one should look like a skeleton."

Natasha blushed slightly. His voice was a little loud, due, she knew, to the impact of cryo. She leaned over and placed her hand over his. "Hey, not disagreeing with you," she said quietly, "but its not a good idea to say things like that in public, all right?"

He nodded, but looked embarrassed. "I'm sorry. I just-" he shook his head. "I just don't know. I'm a man out of time."

"But that's not your fault," she argued. "You were captured, tortured, held prisoner for over 70 years. The world needs to catch up with you."

He smiled slightly, a little cheered by her words. "Thank you." He shrugged. "I still think she's too skinny though."

Natasha laughed, glad he was feeling better humoured. The first few weeks after finding him had been rough - he'd been a ghost, barely talking, barely sleeping. Steve and Sam had tried their best to assist, but eventually it had been decided he had to ride it out. As he grew more accustomed to living in the 21st Century, and to the quirks and peculiarities it contained, he'd begun to become more of a person. Less of a shell. Taken more of an interest in life - books, movies, nature, news.

Natasha had never raised what he'd done in Iran. The scar on her midriff was a permanent marker of his past. But as she'd grown to know him, she'd started speaking Russian. He'd responded, and a dialogue had formed. Conversations had turned into walks through the city's parks, nights in. Finally, at what she suspected was a little prompting from Steve, he'd falteringly asked her if she'd like to go for dinner with him.

"Its a breakthrough," Steve had commented.

"Oh yeah?"

"Oh yeah. During the war-" Steve caught himself, and smiled - "he was always the one with the girls. He would turn up with two, one for me, but usually leave with them both."

"What a player!" Natasha had smiled.

"I think his ego was dented after I got the serum," Steve laughed. "I remember Agent Carter talking about dancing, him trying to hit on her, and getting rebuffed. He commented he was turning into me!"

That did make her laugh. But as she looked at him now - shy, fragile, vulnerable, and slightly confused - it was hard to believe that this had been the cocky, self-confident man of Steve's memories, or the calculating assassin who had nearly ended her life. She shrugged and asked if he wanted dessert.

"Please." He smiled. "We didn't get much-"

"-during the war", Natasha deadpanned, and he looked worried. "Am I being boring?"

"No," she said, her voice gentle. "Never."

They left after cheesecake. He came with her, back to her small, tidy apartment. He'd walked around, noting the books, the CDs. Suddenly, he turned, his expression inscrutable.

"This is - I stay here- what will Steve think of me?!"

"He'll think -" she drawled, putting her arms around his neck - "that you're old enough to run your own life. And he's out with Kate tonight, anyway."

Bucky nodded. Leaning over, he kissed her, gently, on the mouth. She responded by pulling him closer, parting her lips, allowing him to repeat by using his tongue. A gentle, sensual exploration began, him tracing the curves of her waist, down to her hips.

"Want to be more comfortable?" She whispered. He nodded. As they moved towards the bedroom, he leaned in and kissed her more aggressively.

He smiled as he cuddled next to her. The metal arm was away from her, he made sure of that. She murmured, her eyes flickering. "Hey." Her voice was sleepy. "You ok?"

Bucky looked at her, turning to face her. "Yes." Leaning in, they kissed. She blinked and ran her hand down his flesh arm. A relationship had never been her intention, but it was the best thing, she reflected, that could happen. She unconsciously ran her other hand over her bullet scar. One day, she'd have to explain to him who had caused it, but looking at his face, wondered if she ever could. Leaning in, she kissed him again.


	2. Connections

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another update, another import

Bucky let Natasha run her hand up his arm, slowly, lazily. Smiling, she leaned over, kissing his collarbone. He reached out, and stroked her hair.

She felt him shift, and frowned slightly. "You ok?"

"Just a long time..." he murmured.

Natasha swallowed, and kissed his collarbone. "Don't worry. We've got all the time in the world." She ran her fingers over his chest.

"They didn't use to stick out."

"What?" she looked at him, slightly confused.

"These." He pointed to his collarbone. "Steve has shown me photos of what I was like. I was heavier...stronger."

Before HYDRA turned you into something else, Natasha thought, but refrained from voicing it aloud. "Cuddlier." She nestled back into him. "More of a man, less of warrior." She sighed dramatically. "Someone who could make a woman feel comfortable in his arms."

He raised an eyebrow. "You insulting me, Agent Romanoff?"

"No." She grinned. "Steve has shown me the photos. Come on!" She got out of bed, reaching for her bathrobe which was lying across a chair. "Need to fatten you up."

Bucky chuckled as she grabbed his hand and pulled him out of bed. "Woah!"

She shrugged. "What can I say?" She picked up a t-shirt and tossed it to him. "Here. Might want to cover yourself."

Laughing, he pulled it on over his shoulders. She had already sprinted into the kitchen, and he could hear cupboards being opened. He followed. "Can I help?"

"Yes." She pointed to the kettle. "Boil it. Coffee?"

"Yes!" he said, enthusiastically. She looked at him. "We didn't have it much..." his voice trailed off, and he busied himself. Thanks to Steve's careful guidance, he was au fait with most 21st Century appliances. Steve, he thought with satisfaction, was even considering letting him cook solo in the next couple of weeks. "Can I beat the eggs?"

"Of course!" She handed him the bowl. "Pancakes. Do you want bacon?"

"Please." She pulled a pack out of the fridge, and began to trim them. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched his movements. He was very lean, and defined. She herself had seen the photos of him and Steve, and noticed that he'd been heavier, more carefree. She shuddered slightly, remembering the pitiful state he'd been in when they'd found him. She busied herself with pouring the batter in the pan.

Twenty minutes later, they were sitting in her sun drenched kitchen. Bucky was more than pleased with his pancakes. "There are so good," he said, chewing.

She smirked. "Why, thank you. Have more syrup."

He raised an eyebrow. "Have some yourself. Between you and Steve, I'm going to end up the size of a house."

"I doubt it."

He looked at her. "Thanks. But there's nothing wrong with you having a little more meat on your bones."

She blinked. The remark was flirtatious, but delivered with a cocky grin. Suddenly, she realised that this was the real Bucky, the one Steve had known. She decided to see how long he could stay for. "Well, thank you."

"Not a problem." He winked. "See, I'm used to heat being rationed. I need a woman who can keep me warm."

Natasha smiled. "You just want to be comforted."

"Of course!" He shrugged. "The restaurant last night...what happened to women having hips?!"

She raised an eyebrow. "Not too sure."

"Something to hold onto..." He grinned at her.

Natasha blinked. This was definitely the flirtatious, cocky Barnes that Steve had eulogised over. "You want something to hold onto, Sergeant?!"

Bucky nearly choked on a mouthful of pancake. "I-"

Before he could move, she was sitting on his lap. Her own training had enabled her to curl round him, perch on him before he could move to object. "Come on. Where's your sense of adventure?"

He pulled her down, kissing her hard. His hand was all over her abdomen, stroking, caressing. "Mmmmm..."

Suddenly, he stopped. His thumb was rubbing over the scar on her midriff. "Natasha...how did you...?"

"Oh, on a mission." She said, lightly, leaning down to kiss him again. "Nothing to-"

"Which one?" His voice was quiet.

"It was..." she swallowed. "It was-"

"It was me, wasn't it?" His voice was slightly hoarse. "Did I shoot you?!"

She looked at him, rubbing her thumb across his cheekbone. "Yes." She leaned down and kissed him. "But, I tried to get you first. I guess we're even."

He shook his head. "I wish-" he blinked. "Don't let me become...become that again. That thing. Please, Natasha."

"Bucky," she said, soothingly, kissing him. "You are. Never. Turning. Into. Him. Again. Ever. Even if I have make you eat pancakes until you're too fat to move."

He laughed. "Thank you." He rubbed his forehead. "This is so hard. Remembering who I am, who I was..." he bit his lip.

"Its a long process," she said, quietly, "but you have Steve, and-"

"You." He said, catching her face with his hand. "Stay with me. Not just for a date."

"Don't worry," she said, kissing him deeply. "You got me. Always."


	3. Grappling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A date with a difference.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A love story. Of sorts.

"I mean it. Meet me there in fifteen minutes."

"You're not going to tell me why?"

"Barnes. I am not telling you anything. Meet me there. Wear something comfortable."

"All right." There was an edge of suspicion in his voice. "I hope this isn't going to hurt."

"Why, Bucky..." she cooed, "How can you think that?!"

"Because its you."

She smirked. "You're not the first man whose said that to me, Barnes. See you in fifteen!"

As Bucky entered the unprepossessing grey building, he swallowed. Dressed in track pants, a t-shirt, and hoody, he pulled the hood up. "One please, lower gym," he mumbled.

The man behind the desk looked at him. "You Barnes?"

"Yes."

"A girl - Romanoff - booked the lower gym just for you and her. You've got 20 minutes." He waved him through. "She's already paid."

Bucky's eyebrows went up. "For 20 minutes?"

"Yep. Just go!"

He hurried down the steps, and pushed open the swing doors. Natasha was standing on a mat, checking her watch. "Thought you weren't coming," she said, raising an eyebrow.

"I, uh-" he swallowed and pulled off his hoody. She was clad in skintight black lycra pants and a sleeveless hot pink top. He could feel his mind wandering already. As if on cue, he felt his legs go from under him, landing him firmly on the floor.

"Never take your eye off the target, Barnes," Natasha said half jokingly, pulling back after the roundhouse kick she'd delivered to the back of his legs. "And keep your eyes off my cleavage whilst training." He blinked, and got back up. "Let's see how far you can-"

Before she could finish the sentence, he'd flipped her over on to the floor. She pushed her self back up, and immediately swung in for a punch. He grabbed her arm with his flesh hand and tried to get her in a lock. She responded by jumping up and wrapping her legs around his neck. He responded by grabbing for her ankles, although she hung on.

"You ever killed a man with these thighs?!" he protested.

"Hey!" she said, sounding slightly offended.

"No, no...its just..."he grabbed the back of her legs, and began to untangle her from him. "Its just you're pretty tough."

Natasha, who was standing back on the floor, quirked an eyebrow. "Really? Not just hinting my thighs are thick?!"

He smirked. "They're the perfect size, trust me." He looked at her. "You really want to grapple?"

She responded by throwing him onto the floor. He got up. "I guess you do..."

"Trust me, Barnes - I really want to." She looked at him. "You need to realise - you don't need to be so..."

"So what?" he asked, looking puzzled.

"So gallant with me." She folded her arms. "I'm not a frail little flower, I can-"

"Then you won't mind if I do this," he said, sweetly, and before she could move, he lifted her, swung her over his shoulder with his metal arm, and locked her in place. "I know you're not a frail little flower, Natasha. And I say...we go and continue to grapple somewhere more comfortable." He scooped up his hoody, completely ignoring her indignant squeal of protest.

"Barnes!"

"Oh, be quiet," he said, carelessly. "I want you to prove to me you're not frail...but in a nice comfortable space, that's called my bed. Up for it?"

"I..."

"Of course you are," he grinned, holding her tighter. "Let's go and grapple it out, right?"

Before she could make another word of protest, he strode towards the door. Smiling, she clung on.


	4. Realising

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Past catches up.

"BARNES! Put me down right now!"

Chuckling, Bucky put Natasha back on her feet, at the front door of her apartment. She spun round, pulled out her key, and began unlocking the door. He waited until she'd opened it, then felt himself being pulled in.

"Come here!"

He didn't need to be asked again. Kissing her, they both staggered forwards, falling onto the couch. She shifted, feeling his warmth and weight settle comfortably onto her body. He gently stroked her arm, leaning over, and nibbled at her neck. She gently stroked his face.

"Come on," she whispered. "Let's get to bed."

Nodding, he took her hands, pulling her up. She grabbed his and pulled him towards the door. As she closed the door, she jumped up, wrapping her thighs around his waist, and burying her face in his neck. He walked backwards, falling onto the bed. She straddled him, pulling off his hoody, and then moving her hands onto his chest.

He took her wrists. "Taking control?" he murmured.

She leaned over. "You're from the 1940s. You're gallant, gentlemanly. But you don't need to treat me as though I'm made of glass, James. I can handle myself."

"I'll bet you can." He was stretching, a lazy smile on his face. She blinked. He had changed so much from the hostile, aggressive villain they had first encountered in that terrifying road battle. She swallowed.

He frowned. "What is it?"

"I-" she paused. "I was just thinking back to that day-"

"The day on the highway?"

She blinked. "You remember?"

He nodded. "Steve-" he paused - "Steve and Sam have been telling me. Sam thinks its important I know what I did, how Steve recognised me." He swallowed. "They think it may help bring some of my memories back."

"Do you want them to come back?"

"Yes." He looked at her. "People tell me what I was like...I need to know...I need to..."

He let her pull his t-shirt up until it was over his head, letting her fingers glide over his abdominal muscles. She frowned, stroking them. "They did you some damage."

"Huh?" he looked down, noticing the faint outline of scars on his skin. "Oh. That. Yes."

"What happened?" she asked, gently stroking. She noticed how his muscles relaxed more with her touch. He looked down. "It..." he swallowed. "I can't remember, Natasha, I'm sorry-"

"Hey," she said, gently, leaning down and kissing him. "Its fine, Bucky. Just relax. I know there are things you can't recall."

He took her hand, and pulled her down next to him. "I want to remember," he confided, turning his face to hers. "But there are times when I can't..."

He shivered slightly. She lay close, resting her head on his chest. He pulled his arm - his flesh arm - round her, holding her tightly. "I remember when I was training..."

"Yes?" She prompted.

He blinked, and his face seemed to freeze. "I can't talk about this," he murmured. He began to get up. "I need to go."

"Wait!" Natasha sat up, confused and alarmed. "Bucky-"

"I'm sorry." Before she could move, he'd left the room. The last sound she heard was the shutting of the front door.


	5. Getting to Grips

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So its gone a little darker. But then, when you have a traumatised ex-assassin trying to fit in, its not going to be perfect, is it?

Bucky ran down the stairs, ignoring the elevator, and trying hard not to push past a couple of startled looking people coming back up the stairs. He was sweating, his pulse racing. Suddenly, he'd begun to think. Think of what he was. What he had been.

Was he still...that?

Shocked, he pushed the door of the block open and began to hurry. He had to get away. Get away from the lurking threats and fears that were promising to spill out from the shadowy vestiges of his mind, consuming him. He began to walk, his hands shoved into his pockets, and his hood up.

He had to keep his hand concealed. He had no wish for anyone to see the flash of metal, leading them to draw conclusions, or shy away in shock or repulsion. He kept the hood up and continued. He needed somewhere where he could just blend in, not be bothered, try and ignore the thoughts swirling through his mind.

He walked the streets, confusing thoughts crowding in. Being in a chair. Feeling pulses of electrical shockwaves through his body. Icy temperatures. Feelings of unexplained fear.

He kept walking.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Natasha blinked, feeling slightly sick. She couldn't work out what had happened. One minute, they'd been together - suddenly, he'd left.

She swallowed, and heading to the bathroom, held her wrists under the tap to cool her blood. As she looked at herself in the mirror, she realised she had to find him.

But she couldn't do it alone.

She gripped the edge of the sink, and stared into it. "I can't do this," she whispered.

Shaking her head, she walked back into the bedroom.

He found the alley. Swallowing, he looked around, noting that it was deserted. Without wanting to make a sound, he stole quietly to a dark corner. He'd stay here, lie low until -

He blinked. Until what? He shook his head. He couldn't hide away. He would be exposed. He turned, and began to walk again. Deeper into an unsavoury district, with little comprehension of where he was, or what he planned to do. He wanted to blend in, fit in.

But how?

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

"He left."

Steve looked at her, gaping slightly. "But I thought-?"

"So did I." She shook her head, trying to hide the fact she was near tears. "Its - he can't handle it. He's destroyed. As a human being."

"No," Steve said, sharply, refusing to accept her interpretation. "He's not. He can't be. Maybe its just-" he bit his lip. "Too much, too soon."

"I pushed him too hard?!"

"No!" Steve turned to her. "More a case of I think he pushes himself too hard. And this is what worries me. He's remembering his life before, and its throwing him out of sync."

"He remembers shooting me," she said, suddenly. "In Iran. And on the bridge. He remembers, Steve. HYDRA tried to wipe him, but clearly they didn't do a good job."

Steve looked at her. "Sam would argue that eventually, the most repressed memory comes back to the surface." He shook his head. "Its not your fault. But its not his, either."

She looked at her hands. "It was going well."

"Do you actually care about him?" the question surprised her.

"Of course I do. Why?"

"Because I have wondered - if this is to -" Steve shook his head. "We need to find him."  
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

"Hey sweetheart, you ok?"

Bucky turned. A voice. A female voice, soft, persuasive, called to him. "You ok?"

"No," he whispered. He was beginning to shake.

She smiled. "Come with me."


	6. Fear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reactions always end badly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short little chapter, sorry.

Bucky blinked, and turned. A pretty blonde, dressed smartly, was looking at him. "Hey, you ok?"

He swallowed. He had no idea what to say. "I'm fine," he forced out, trying to move away from her.

"You don't look it," she insisted, moving towards him, causing him to tense. He took a step back, noting how she persisted in taking another step forward. She looked at him, making eye contact.

"You're trembling," she noted, biting her lip. "You look like you've had a shock, please, let me help you-"

Her words were cut off sharply as he moved forward swiftly, the metal hand extending and grabbing her at the throat. As he pushed her up against the wall, her eyes bulged, unable to process the events that were happening. The metal fingers flexed and coiled, as though preparing to crush the flesh they held, strangle the life from its owner.

She grabbed at his arm, fingernails flailing helplessly at the machinery that lay underneath the black hoodie. "Please..." she choked, her eyes conveying the fear she felt.

He opened his hand, and she sagged against the wall. He looked at her. "I-" he faltered, unable to think of anything to say. "I-"

"What are you DOING?!"

He turned. A man was in front of him. Two men. Both looked shocked, their eyes quickly scanning from him to the woman. She was rubbing her neck, as though trying to erase the memory of the metal hand.

"You...freak..."

Bucky blinked, the reality of his situation suddenly sharpening into focus. Before he could react, one of the men's fists swung up, hitting him in the jaw. Not even being given a chance to dodge the blow, he stepped backwards, only to find himself slammed against the wall by the other. He felt the impact of hitting the bricks reverberate through the metal arm, up into his chest.

"You - don't-"

Another blow. To his face. And another.

"Get on the floor-"

A kick to the abdomen. Hard, steady. And another. He choked, feeling blood bubble in his mouth. As he spat it out, he received another hard kick.

"How did he hurt you?!" one of the men demanded, turning to the woman.

"Please!" she said, her voice sounding shocked. "Please, just stop. I shouldn't have approached him. I thought he needed help-"

One of the men gave a bitter laugh. "He certainly needs it now! Let's see that arm!"

Bucky felt his hoodie being pulled at, and the metal exposed. Suddenly, he felt a jarring jolt of pain - pain that echoed throughout his body. Unable to move, his body cold with shock, he felt himself drift away, passing out.


	7. Found

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not everyone finds you for a good reason.

Bucky moved slightly, his body aching from the beating he'd received. He could feel his limbs, but not as though he could control them. As he moved, the metal arm whirred slightly, causing him to blink, turn, and look at it in shock.

What is that?

He began to get up, his legs stiff, and sore. He had no idea what time it was - the sky had darkened, and he felt disorientated. He tried to walk, feeling as though he couldn't control his muscles properly.

As he wandered out into the street, he received some shocked looks from passers by. His eye felt swollen, and he could taste blood in his mouth. As he continued to walk, people began to dodge him, choosing to walk round the injured man.

Bucky swallowed. He turned, and suddenly, felt as though he were disconnected. His legs began to sink, and as he fell, he heard several shocked gasps crowding round. His eyes fluttered, and he hit the sidewalk.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

"So where do we start?"

Natasha didn't answer Steve; she merely glanced at him in a wing mirror. "We need to make circuits. Check that he's in the inner perimeter near my apartment, then we move out."

"So where do you think he could have gone?" Steve asked, puzzled. "It seems most likely he would have gone home."

"But he didn't - you were at home, and he never came back." Natasha bit her lip. "Its all my fault Steve. I tried to take control, show him how to-" she began to blush slightly - "and-"

Steve swallowed and gently laid his hand on hers. "Let's find him. Then you can blame yourself."

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

"Well, this is the most interesting case I've seen for a while."

"He is, isn't he?"

"This arm...its a masterpiece of engineering..."

"Thank you, Doctor. I'm sure you'll appreciate I need to spend some time with him. Truth is Sergeant Barnes should never have been let out of our care, but he was persuasive, and I think his caretaker didn't have the heart to say no to him."

"I see. Well, Agent Huntley, he's sleeping now, but he should be awake any time. We haven't given him any sedatives."

"Thank you, I'm happy to wait."

As the doctor left, the other man walked over and pulled up a chair. Before he sat down, he leaned over, and gently slapped at Bucky's face. "Hey. Hey! Barnes! Wake up!"

Bucky shifted, mumbling slightly. His eyes flickered. The other man raked his gaze over his battered face.

"OK, you're not in the greatest shape right now," he said, softly, "but, Sergeant Barnes, we can make use of you."


End file.
